Chapter Text
"I'll feed your skin snacks to my cockatiel!' The psycho sprinted after you, it's buzz ax slicing through the air as you threw two more shells into the barrel of your Jakob's coach gun. It wasn't vault hunting quality, but it sure killed bandits well enough. You spun on your heel and shoved the silver barrel into its masked face. The psycho's head exploded into chunks of meat and viscera. Not far behind, two more mad men charged. You blew a loose strand of hair out of your face and loaded your shotgun again. Quickly, you sidestepped behind a Dahl dumpster.
The one closer of the two ran past, too caught up in the case to bother predicting your movement, while the other managed to catch you with its buzz ax. You wince away, your spike shield absorbing most of the hit. The psycho easily takes the barb of electricity, his arm rearing back for another blow. You squeeze the trigger, reducing his chest cavity to a bloody pulp. For a brief moment the psycho stands there, clutching at the exposed tissue. "I'm sorry mommy! I'm sorry!" He shrieks before collapsing in a messy heap. Not missing a beat, you reload and swing the barrel at the remaining psycho.
"Just a drop on my tongue!" He leaped from the dumpster, buzz ax raised high above his head.
You fire again, splattering psycho insides over your already dust covered jacket. You mutter a small, "Disgusting," before leaning out of cover. Not twenty feet away, a handful of marauders fired from a run down scrap heap. The bandits had moved in about a month ago and had been giving your digsite hell ever since. At this point, it was either drive them out or risk being overrun by tiny psychos.
Quickly, you dart closer, ducking behind an outhouse. Your trusty Jakobs packs a punch, but not from this distance. You'll have to get closer. With a short glance at your ammo reserves, you push forward, keeping your head down as a spray of bullets barely misses you.
"Jeeze, can't you just die already?" You snarl and sprint toward the rickety stairs; the metal squeaked and shook with each rapid step. "Ya know, if you'd just-" you blast a marauder in the temple, "been polite neighbors-" and another in the shoulder, "I wouldn't have to kill ya!" You smeer the splatter of red off your cheek.
"Got a present for ya!" You hear it before you see it. A loud clatter of something small and hard banging against the metal followed by a rapid beeping. Grenade.
You lurch away, trying to leap behind any scrap of flimsy metal for cover. The thing goes off with a deafening BOOM and you are thrown back. You hit the ground hard and any breath you've had is knocked out. With double vision, you force yourself back up, the familiar hum of your Maliwan shield recharge greeting you. You swing your shotgun around and fire. And miss.
Shit.
As quickly as you can, you load two more rounds into the chamber but not before another joins the marauders. A hulking goliath. A badass. The goliath towers above, an hefty minigun held between it's meaty hands. "Don't run! Let's make face gravy!" The mini gun roars to life and you throw yourself back, the bullets breaking through your shield like it was glass. Several shots lodged themselves in the meat of your shoulder. You were in deep now. You'd brought along plenty enough bullets to saw through a bunch of bandits, but hadn't assumed there'd be a huge goliath among them. There was no way you could take them all by yourself now. Then again... that goliath could be useful.
Ignoring the pain, you charged in and blasted, striking the goliath square in the face. It's helmet popped off with a PING, the mutant's skull springing a foot above the stump of its neck held aloft by a thin flexible length of flesh. "Gonna floss... WITH YOU SPINE!" The goliath roars, slamming down it's minigun on top of his ally, his pale flesh turning a bright red. Sucking in a sharp breath you sprint in the opposite direction of the raging beast. The goliath's attention isn't on you anymore, instead it grabs the nearest psycho by the head, crushing the man's skull between its palms before turning to his next ally. "Time for a corpse cuddle!" The bandits, and what little organization they had, were thrown into disarray. Half the camp was fighting their raging goliath and the other half was still trying to chase you down. You quickly end the group of tiny psychos on your heels before lining up a precise shotgun blast to a raider's skull. While you were sure you'd have to deal with the rage monster, watching the murdering bandits be reduced to puddles by their former friend gave you a sick sense of satisfaction. You half chuckle to yourself as you blast another bandit dead. The goliath rears his long arms back before bringing them down on some poor marauders, leaving a smear of red and viscera behind.
"Gimme your damn loot," another voice sounds behind you. Without looking, you fire in the direction of the voice. A shock nomad hunkers behind a heavy shield firing a dangerous looking SMG. You dash up to him, trying to get around the riot shield for a clean shot, firing all the way.
"Why can you just find some other crap hole to live in?" You shout back. There! You fire at his exposed shoulder but the nomad swings around, his shield knocking you back and deflecting most of the buckshot. He fires a stream of electric infused bullets, easily ripping through your shield and into you. You scream, the sharp jolting pain of electricity coursing through your body. There's no way you're going down to some electric freak. Not when you've come this far. You lunge in close, putting your body between the nomad and his shield. Without thinking, you raise your Jakobs shotgun to the gap in the nomad's hood and squeeze the trigger.
The back of the nomad's head explodes. He stumbles for a moment before collapsing forward. Dead. Your whole body hurts and the faint taste of iron and ozone still lingers on your tongue. But he's dead.
You sway, ready to keel over but the roars of the goliath pull you from your stupor. You check your ammo pouch. That nomad's shield had soaked up a good number of your already limited shotgun shells. And that goliath has already slaughtered plenty of his allies; he'd be looking in your direction next.
As if on cue, "Get ready to feel my fingers in your eyeballs!" The heavy mass of meat and rage turned to you.
Shit.
Half out of panic and half out knowing that your four shots from a common coach gun would hardly touch a badass, raging god-liath, you yank the machine gun from the nomad's dead fingers. It's lighter than your Jakobs, with a more angular, golden design that's far too gaudy, even covered in mud and oil, for your taste. You give the SMG trigger an experimental squeeze. The Hyperion reverse recoil has bullets firing in every direction before quickly focusing down to a steady stream.
Before you have the chance to admire the accuracy, the god-liath rages closer. You turn, aiming down the over exaggerated scope and fire. Just as before, the accuracy focuses down and pepper the giant mutant. The god-liath roars, "I'll cut your eyelids off!" But you keep firing, pumping it full of electricity charged bullets, each shot embedding itself into the god-liath in the extended skull.
The god-liath staggered, his movements becoming jerky as he pushed through the elemental damage. Your heart leapt with excitement, just a little more and this bastard was going down!
CLICK!
The bullets stop along with you breathing. Empty mag. Shit. Fuck. You didn't have any submachine gun bullets on you, and even if you did, you wouldn't know the first thing about reloading one of these fancey new Hyperion guns. Acting more on instinct than thought, your brain does not fully connect with your arm and you fling the gun at the god-liath as hard as you can, other hand scrambling for your trusty shotgun.
The Hyperion gun lands just in front of the electrified mutant and, against all laws you knew of gun manufacturing, the thing bounced. A red, digi-structed ball encased the gun. It bounced again, this time directly into the god-liath's chest. With each bounce, a crackle of electricity ripples forth. The god-liath stops dead, it's limbs spasming, teeth chattering as the electricity fries it's body. With one last, "it's so...'lectric!" The god-liath collapses into a stinking heap, it's limbs twitching and sparking even in death.
You stare at the SMG in your hand. Whatever grime had previously coated it was gone with the fresh digi-struct that had returned it to you. It's definitely one of those new Hyperion guns; maybe they had stolen the digi-structuring capabilities from Tediore? You wouldn't put it past the corporate assholes. Still, that had felt amazing. Never in your wildest had you thought you'd ever be able to take down one of those dangerous freaks.
"Nice killin' cupcake."
You jumped, dropping the empty gun and raising your Jakobs to eye level.
"Ow."
Aside from an encampment of corpses, you were alone.
"Hey, uh, would you mind picking me back up?" The voice comes again. It's a familiar sound, a voice you know but haven't heard in years.
"Are you a... gun?" You ask tentatively, scooping the SMG back up.
The gun sighs, "More of an AI that's been stuffed onto the tiny solid state in here. But sure, I'm your gun, let's go with that. Keep in nice and simple for ya'."
You scowl. Not so much at the AI's rudeness. More at your own incapability to place this voice. It was right there, at the back of your brain but you just couldn't quite reach it. "AI, huh? Got a name then?"
"Jack."
"Huh," you mutter, the burned out neurons in your brain finally connecting. Oh. Oh shit. Jack. As in Handsome Jack. You'd heard that voice a thousand times, usually on ads over the EchoNet . Mass murdering sociopath or the savior of Pandora, taken before his time. It all depended on who you asked. You landed more in the homicidal CEO camp, but you hadn't been on Pandora during his reign to say first hand. It'd been nearly four years since he'd even crossed your mind.
" 'huh'?" He repeats. "That's all I get? You know who I am right? You've got the savior of Pandora in your hands!"
You holster your Jakobs. "No, I've got a cool gun with a crap gimmick. Does Hyperion really think people want this in this voice in their guns? Ugh. Bunch of freaks.”
"What? You, you're kidding me right? You think that I'm some trash copy?" The AI sputters. You ignore the gun, giving the bandit encampment a once over, scrounging any cash or bullets. Even with the already annoying voice, the SMG was nicer than any you could afford. Definitely the most powerful weapon you'd ever fired. "Look princess, I'm state of the art. The one and only, Handsome Jack."
Satisfied that you'd cleared out the bandits, you begin your short trek back through the badlands, SMG in tow. "If you are so damn state of the art, why did Hyperion jam you into some gun? Certainly they'd have better uses for their oh so high and mighty CEO."
"Y-you'd think that, right?" Jack huffs, "But in all honesty? No freakin' clue. Last thing I remember was being yanked out of this piss ant, middle manager's skull." The gun paused. "He, uh, uploaded me into his brain then betrayed me. Was surprised when I went to kill him," he added as a hasty explanation. "After that, everything's," he makes a sound as if popping his lips, "blank."
Turning his words over in his mind, you finally say, "And now you're a gun."
"... yeah. And you're not a bandit...Well, you're able to speak in complete sentences which is a step up from the last guy."
"Gee, thanks," you roll your eyes, something you're certain he can't see. "Does this thing have a mute button?"
"No. No it does not," he retorts smugly. "Look, bandit, not a bandit, it doesn't matter right now! What matters is, you gotta help me cupcake!"
You scoff, "And why, exactly, would I do that?"
"Get me back to Hyperion! Or to a constructor or anything! Something with more than terabyte for a hard drive. I can barely think in here," Jack's voice waivers, there's something desperate behind the demand. Almost a plea.
You're nearing the digsite and your trailer wasn't too far off. "Let's say I do believe you, you actually are Handsome Jack's consciousness. Perfect digital recreation. Why, of all the AIs on Pandora, would I help you?" You tap the gun's scope to emphasize your point. Jack starts to speak, but you continue, cutting him off. "You killed, how many innocent people down here? The galaxy is far better off without yet another megalomaniacal monster running amok."
Now it's the gun's turn to scoff, "Ohhh greeeaaat. Just my luck, you're one of those bleeding heart types. I just watched you murder a camp of bandits. Hell, I helped you murder a camp of bandits!"
"Because they were attacking my digsite!" You shoot back, a bit too loud. A few residents to your right looked in your direction. You flashed a wry smile, waved and picked up your pace. The trailer wasn't far and you'd rather not be seen arguing with your weapon. “I don’t attack people at random.”
"For the love of... "the frustration turned to irritation, "This is the first conversation I get after weeks of baby eating and wallowing in filth? You seriously argue morality with me? You slaughtered them in their home. A disgusting hole of meat, but ya know, they call it a home. I think. And you went in, guns blazing and wiped them out.” The gun chuckled. “You even look like you enjoyed it.”
You scowl down at the SMG. “I did not enjoy it. I don’t like killing people.” Though, you couldn’t deny the grain of truth words. While it was wearing off, the adrenalyn and rush of killing those maniacs had been the wildest thrill you’d had since arriving on Pandora.
Jack laughs again, a low, threatening sound, “Keep telling yourself that, pumpkin.”
You huff before kicking open the door to your trailer and dropping your gear and guns onto the dining room table/makeshift desk. The trailer is narrow, you could brush either wall if you spread your arms, with a kitchen that was missing a working microwave. Your clothes were on a wire rack that could easily collapse if you needed to move it. The whole thing was more than a little cluttered with your archeological instruments, and other belongings. Behind a curtain near the back was your bedroom, which was just as cluttered as the rest of the trailer. “Look, I know it's crappy, don't say a word.”
"Sweetheart, 'crappy' is an understatement. This is just... sad. Like a dumpster but you renovated it with stuff from a skag den." Against your better judgment you smile. He wasn't wrong. It's not like you were exactly livin' large in the Devil's Razor.
"Skag den? See, here I was going for more of a spiderant aesthetic,” you fire back, but most of the venom is gone from your voice. You grab a stale beer from the bottom of the fridge, push your gear to the side, drop onto the scratchy bench of the dining room table and stare into the blue scope of the SMG. The beer opens with a hiss. "So. What am I gonna do with you?" It should have felt maddening, talking to a gun, and yet, with everything that you'd seen since arriving on Pandora, this felt right at home on this madhouse of a planet.
"Really? Were you not listening to me? Oh man, gonna have to work on that one. Get me back to Hyperi-”
"And I already told you, not gonna happen," you swiftly cut him off. Course, you'd never be able to speak like this were this AI in something more sapient than a gun. "It was more rhetorical anyway."
"You know I can self-destruct and kill us both, right?" His tone was light, but you didn't doubt him in his threat.
"And blow yourself to oblivion? You make a poor copy," you scoff.
"Wanna bet, sweet cheeks?" There's that dangerous edge. A chill trickles down your spine, a mixture of unease and something that settles warm in the pit of your stomach.
You hide a smirk behind another swig of beer, "Look, the way I see it you've got three options. One," you raise your thumb, "You cool it with threats and begging me to take you back to Hyperion and be my new gun. Hell knows how much I need the fire power. Two," your pointer goes up, "I sell you to Marcus Kinkaid and he decides what happens to a gun with you inside it. I'm sure he and the crimson raider would be more than happy to smash you into tiny bits. Or three," and your third finger joins the first two, "You go ahead with that little self destruct plot. What's it gonna be?"
"Cupcake, are you threatening me?" The gun almost sounded impressed.
This time you smirk fully, "I'd hardly call that a threat. More of the only logical outcomes. I really need more firepower, and you fit the bill. But if you dont wanna cooperate. I'm happy to sell, and other than Hyperion, the best buyer would be Kinkaid."
"Not afraid of being blown to tiny bits, then?"
"Then I'd be the last person Handsome Jack murdered," you put plainly. "Though no one would know about it. Death by explosion on Pandora is hardly the most unusual thing."
Jack doesn't say anything for a moment. You can feel a small well of pride that you managed to shut up one of the galaxy's biggest assholes, even if he was just a copy. "Suppose I'm stuck with you, kiddo." The voice practically spits the last word out.
"Oh, don't be so sour," you try to reassure through a grin, "It's not all bad! Bandits attack the dig sight at least every other day. And with a new fangled gun like you, we'll reduce them to a pile of electrically charged ashes.''Jack huffs, and grumbles something under his non-existent breath, but it isn't a completely disapproving sound. You scoot off the bench. "Im'ma rinse off and watch something on the EchoNet. So don't go self-destructing without me."